"Wolf"

Summary – A secret is uncovered that has the power to pit friend against friend and father against son – and someone has to die before it's all over.

Post ROTK

Rated R for violence, mentions of abuse, and implied rape. (Previously rated PG-13 but bumped to R when I was writing Chapters 19, 20, and 21).

AUTHOR'S NOTE – I am not the great J.R.R. Tolkien nor am I related to him in any way, shape, or form. Therefore, I do not own any of the following characters or place names. I am just an author looking to take his characters out for a little spin in a story that has been brewing in my mind for just about a year now. I make no money whatsoever from this story, except for the reviews of you, dear readers, and that is enough payment to keep my muse happy. So please, do the right thing: leave a review if the story so moves you. It's my incentive to get the chapters up faster and faster chapter uploads mean less time hanging in suspense for you. Enjoy!

"There! There! By that tree!"

"I'm on him."

"Kyno, assist Randor! He's wounded."

"Yes, sire."

The sounds of battle rang out in the otherwise peaceful clearing amid the endless green of the surrounding forest. Swords clashed harshly against one another with sharp, metallic screams as metal met metal in the warm, heavy late spring air. Arrows whizzed and whined overhead as fierce war cries erupted in parched throats. All around, there was the oppressive stench of blood and sweat as it mingled together in a strange mating dance.

"I need more back up. More are coming my lord."

"Not for long! We shall overtake them yet. Stand your ground!"

"We are coming to aid you Valos."

"You six there, come assist me. I am going after the leader."

"We are with you, my lord."

More arrows flew, some falling harmlessly to the grass, piercing naught but the soil and grass or perhaps the occasional thick tree root. Others, however, lodged themselves deep into bodies with deadly accuracy. These bodies would sometimes fall after this, never to rise from the dust again. Blood flowed freely on all sides, running in rivulets from wounds, staining the earth below a sickening crimson. Still, the onslaught continued.

Now two bodies emerged from the thick of the fight and stood face to face against one another, while all around them, the battle raged on. None took notice of the pair as they warily eyed one another, deciding on where the most deadly places to strike at were located. One took aim at last and let fly with a crudely fashioned spear, but the other saw the intended path and avoided it easily. The partially rusted metal head embedded itself into the ground, content for the moment to feast upon soil instead of flesh and blood. The leader who had avoided the deadly projectile now stepped up and took his aim, an arrow already notched and bow drawn. It was the last of the arrows that he had carried in the leather quiver that was slung across his back and shoulder. He checked his aim and released his arrow, which sped from him with a true path, felling the other, struck to the heart by the gold feathered shaft.

The handful of warriors left under the fallen leader's command refused to give ground, still minded to win the day, with or without a leader. Now the one who had survived unsheathed his sword and neatly lopped off the head of what he figured to be the second in command. Upon seeing this, the rest fled, but the valiant warriors of the victorious side pursued them and smote them down as they attempted escape. Shouts of victory and congratulations rent the air, for though several of their warriors lay wounded, none had lost their lives. But the leader motioned for them to settle down, though relief was clearly written on his face.

"Well done, my friends. But let us put aside our time to celebrate, for there is much to do yet before the sunlight fades into night. Let us bring our comrades to shelter and tend to their wounds."

"Well spoken, my lord," said the one named Kyno. "But where shall we go? I fear our enemy may try and attack us by night."

"Let us take them to the stronghold that we have fought so hard to free this day. It is not far from here and will provide safe refuge for all of our forces," came the reply. "Valos, pick the twenty gentlest hands among you to move the wounded. I want Lanan and five others to gather the weapons here, our spent arrows as well as the weapons of our enemies. Separate them into two piles, so that each may reclaim his own weapons and those of the enemy shall be brought to my father. Bring them all to the refuge and take care not to forget to collect the supplies at our hidden camp. Talsen, take the remaining men and gather firewood. We shall burn the corpses as per tradition. For now, I shall assist Valos in moving the wounded."

Now each warrior went about his own tasks as they had been commanded, and in a short time, all the tasks had been completed. The wounded were safe, the weapons sorted and returned to their owners, and the bodies of the dead had been committed to the unquenchable hunger of the flames. When the embers had died down and been extinguished, each returned to the stronghold.

The stronghold was a tower, tall as the trees and wide enough to house only about fifty warriors. It was built of white stone, crispy cut and fitted together with barely a joint to be seen between the man sized slabs of rock. It was old too, for none still residing in the kingdom could remember a time when either it or its sister towers had not existed. They simply had always been there to most minds, but it had been long since they had all been free from the grasp of the enemy. Now the rocks were dirtied with the marks of the enemy, though the inside had remained blissfully untouched, for none save the returning warriors knew the way to release the locks.

So it was here that the bedrolls of soft deer fur were laid, some on cots for the wounded and the rest carpeted the floor. And on the floor was just where the leader spread out his own bedroll, though he chose to take a back corner of the floor. He left off from tending to the hurts of his brothers-in-arms, for he was not one skilled in the ways of healing. That was Kyno's domain, among others. After they had all supped, he spoke up to his warriors.

"We shall have need to post guards tonight I am afraid," he said with an apologetic look. "Though our enemy is cowardly, I do not trust that they may not try something under the cover of darkness. I know that each of you have fought hard today, toiling greatly for your kingdom, and I am thankful. I know also that you must all be exhausted from today's trials but I ask that you bear with me this night. I shall watch alongside you, though I ask that Dalius, Oraforn, Malthus, and Garren take the first watch. I will have four others relieve you of your duties in two hours. Take care to let nothing past your observations and report anything directly back to me. However, I ask that you leave no man alone at any time."

"Yes, my lord," they replied before turning on their heels and heading out into the now cooling air of the twilight hours.

The sun was hanging low on the horizon; just the upper tip was holding onto to the world against slipping into the darkness of the night hours. The warriors who were not tending to the wounded cast themselves on their bedrolls nonetheless, not yet asleep, but taking a moment of relaxation. But not the leader. He went about to each of them and gave them their assignments for the night's watch. To those who could not take a shift, he knelt by each bedside and spoke words of praise for a fight well fought and conferred with Kyno or one of the other physicians about their wounds. When he was finished, he fished out a worn looking map of the kingdom from a supply bag and took it to his bedroll. There he sat cross legged, tracing lines over the surface with his fingers, looking to see which areas still needed to be liberated. It would require a still greater effort, but there were only a few small areas to purge the enemy from. Inwardly, he smiled, for his efforts had not been in vain.

The shift in the guards changed several times and darkness blanketed the world. Still the leader went about his business, now conferring with a captain, now checking the status of the remaining supplies. Fires were lit in several pits for light by which to see better and to boil water for the cleansing of dirtied bandages. Several warriors who still remained awake pressed their leader to take some rest, but he seemed tireless and only a select few that knew him well knew that he was agitated. The supplies were running low. He would have to return to the palace the next morning to replenish them. It was not the fact that he had to return that bothered him so, but that he had to leave his men. True, his captains were more than worthy to carry on without him, but if something happened he wanted to be there to fight side by side with them.

But for the moment, he pushed all such thoughts out of his mind and began to change the bandages of Randor, one of the youngest warriors of the group. The leader smiled at him, for he knew the younger warrior well. Though Randor was many years his junior, the pair were good friends. It had only been in the previous spring that the younger warrior had come of age to join the kingdom's military. The leader remembered how excited Randor had been when he could finally join the effort to reclaim the kingdom.

But the leader's thoughts were interrupted by a voice calling out to him from the doorway.

"Prince Legolas," called the warrior named Valos, "our men have captured a small band of intruders within our woods."